Press Conference: PomPep Edition
by Tsunderellah
Summary: To dispel rumors, Amity Park's most scandalous couple holds a press conference and you, dear readers, are invited as journalists to the affair! Equipped with merciless questions and lightning-quick pens, let's hope that the couple is prepared for the ruthless onslaught.


**Herro...I've been wanting to make an ask-fic since, uh...sometime long ago. I dunno, the opportunity to interact with readers and other people is really exciting (cause I am a hobo that lives in my parents' basement) and..yeah. Uhm, I know the concept of the ask-fic has been repeatedly and brutally over-used, but hopefully this'll turn out well..and people will actually enjoy this? Yeah.**

**Enjoy and I look forward to hearing your questions, dear fellow writers. **

**-Tsunderella**

* * *

Vlad fixed Daniel's tuxedo for the umpteenth time, earning an icy glare from his young lover. Chuckling, the older man withdrew his hands, choosing to put them inside the pockets of his sleek black silk suit. Lying before them was a table, about three meters long and a meter wide, covered with a white table cloth. Beyond the white barrier were rows of plastic chairs, brown in colour and old with use. The billionaire sighed at the dismal place. Normally, he would have preferred a more expensive setting, like the Sheraton, but since he did lose that one argument…

"Door opens in ten minutes, Mr. Masters, Mr. Fenton." A back-stage assistant casually told them, half-peering from her clipboard, half-looking into the eyes of the two men, kicking Vlad off of his train of thought. His hands gripped the side of the chair he was sitting on, and grimaced at the plastic single-seat furniture. Plastic did always make him feel uncomfortable, especially since his rump was used to velvet and down.

Ah, who was he kidding? He was nervous as a girl on her first date, and the nerve was all because of one raven-haired gentleman who's just a little bit uncouth with his demeanor and a little bit too truthful for the press to like. He can already see his empire collapsing.

Oh well, this was it. After months of deliberation and heated argumentations, the couple have decided to hold a sort of press conference to dispel all the rumours, be they good or nasty, about their upcoming marriage. About an eternity ago Vlad Masters, Time Magazine's Businessman of the Year and Cosmopolitan Magazine's Most Shag-able Bachelor, publicly announced his engagement to twenty-five year old Daniel Fenton. The world erupted into a whirlwind of chaos. Jaws permanently attached themselves to the floor, eyes twitched violently and guns were loaded (in Madeline Fenton's case that is). Since then, nasty rumours about the billionaire started to circulate, one of them being that he is raging paedophile (complete with the white van and sweets) or that Danny was only one of those harlot gold-diggers after the man's gold-plated credit card. Vlad was used to all the hate and spared the rumours none of his attention, whereas the younger halfa was left questioning both his and Vlad's romantic intentions, almost causing a severe breakdown on the young man's part.

This conference was to give all those nosy journalists and authors their chance to gather their information and correct the rumours as soon as possible, lest they want to find themselves incurring the wrath of one of the most powerful men in the world.

Vlad felt the warmth of a small hand wriggle its way into his palm. Glancing over to the owner of the hand, the older man found the frown that had been etched on his face melt at the sight of ice-blue eyes.

"You scared?" Vlad asked the youth.

"Mm, that the people are gonna tear me apart with their pedantic mouths and chew me down until I am non-existent? Of course not." Danny scoffed, sarcasm rolling fluently off his tongue. His mood continued to sour when the older man began to laugh-loudly at that.

"Oh, dearest. You don't understand how cute I find it when you say such big words." Vlad chortled, wiping away a tear caused by too much laughter.

"_Two minutes until door opens." _A voice over the intercom formally said. "_May the guest journalists be reminded that Mr. Vlad Masters and Mr. Daniel Fenton are not allowing any form of video recording devices, such as camcorders and cameras to the conference room. Failure to comply will have consequences to be determined by Mr. Masters. Only journalists with invitations and identification cards will be allowed inside. When entering, please be mindful of the stairs…_

"You ready, love?" Cobalt eyes locked unto blue eyes.

"I guess so…" A shiver.

...

The doors opened and journalists and writers of all sorts and professions began filing in.


End file.
